


These scars will protect us

by UnknownGirlClegane



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1530524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownGirlClegane/pseuds/UnknownGirlClegane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aye, he also wanted her sweet and innocent, all sparkling eyes and delicious blushes, but he wanted her alive more than he wanted her pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These scars will protect us

Sometimes, when she smiled at him, he wanted to hit her hard.

He had never done it back then, when he wore a white cloak and she was still Joffrey’s bethroted. No, the boy had never dared to ask him such a thing. The brat had some sort of twisted respect for him, affection even, which Sandor never understood. Joffrey knew he would refuse to hit a girl just for his entertainment, and had deemed it wise never to ask, lest the court should witness the boy King mocked by his faithful, yet spiteful Hound.

Yet Sandor felt his rage boil and raise higher and higher at every kind word she said to him.

He wanted her wise. He wanted her hard. Aye, he also wanted her sweet and innocent, all sparkling eyes and delicious blushes, but he wanted her alive more than he wanted her pretty.

Instead, the girl looked at him as if he was her rescuer, her knight. Since they had reached the Wall, seeking asylum from the war and the politics, her withered smiles had bloomed again. Sandor knew it could only be a false spring.

That night, he sought her on top of the Wall. He was angry with her for disappearing on her own. This icy rathole was filled with the basest scum from the Seven Kingdoms – thieves, murderers, rapers. All of them quite willing to have her, if they could lay their hands on her.

He knew he would find her there. She loved nothing better than to watch the lands that unfolded beyond the Wall, especially when the dim light of the twilight turned white into pink and red.

“What are you doing there?” he snarled as soon as she saw her, a tall, graceful figure wrapped in a black pelt.

Sansa turned to him, her cheeks red for the cold, and she attempted a shy smile to sooth him. “It was too noisy inside” she whispered as soon as he was near enough to hear her.

Sandor grasped her by the forearm, baring his teeth at her, yanking her a little closer so that he could look at her properly. He let the waves of his anger wash to his eyes, and he saw her paling a little. “I told you not to go around on your own” he said, his voice hard as steel. “Didn’t I?”. He shook her slightly as he spoke, hearing her teeth chatter.

“I’m – sorry” she said in the end, quietly. As if she wasn’t afraid. He released her abruptly, and she swayed a little to gain her balance back.

“Do you have no sense left in that small head of yours?” he said at last. He hadn’t want to hurt her, but he did not let her sense his remorse. “Want one of those little shits to rape you bloody and leave you here to die of cold?”.

Sansa shook her head. He could see her eyes shine with tears, trapped inside her long lashes. She didn’t speak – perhaps she couldn’t.

“Maybe you do” he went on. There was a dark pleasure in hurting her with words. He had to reach her somehow, he had to crush her, had to make her understand. He had tried even before they escaped the Red Keep, but she could not change her nature. To be pretty was like breathing to her – necessary and natural, easy. To him, nothing was easier than pain. “Maybe the little bird’s tired to be all modest and proper, is that the way of it? Maybe she has turned her mind to a good fuck to keep her warm”. He laughed then – a hollow laugh, gloomy and almost threatening.

She listened in silence. A tear or two rolled down her cheek, leaving a wet path that froze on her pale skin. Every teardrop left a mark inside his chest, but it didn’t matter. He had so many scars already.

Sansa looked at him, sadly. She turned her back on him, and started to walk away. Of course she would want him as far away from her as possible. _That is good. Let the girl cry, let her hate you._

Sandor watched her, walking as fast as she could. Where was she going?

He followed her. When she heard his footsteps, she quickened her pace, almost running. Sandor worried that she should slip on ice. Dark gravel was regularly poured on the path thrice a day, but it was still dangerous.

He was faster than her, of course. She was a frail little thing, after all. He caught her, grasping the thick wool of her dress. “Careful” he rasped, as Sansa turned to him, indignantly. Her blue eyes were swimming in tears by now, and she was trembling. The wind was blowing strong, so that her red hair were spinning and flying around her. She was quite a sight.

“You are cruel” she said, almost shrieking.

“I am. That is why I am alive, little bird” he said, not as unkindly as he had hoped to sound. He was fighting against the urge to touch her pretty face, wiping away those tears as he had wiped away the blood from her lip, that time, long ago.

Sansa sniffed. “But you don’t have to be unkind to _me_ ” she protested. “Why do you try so hard to make me unhappy?”. Her lips were trembling in a desperate effort to regain composure.

“I try to keep you living” he said.

“Protect me, then, as you’ve always done!” she sobbed. “How can you do it if you hurt me?”.

Sandor was angry again, a different kind of anger. He grasped her again, by the wrist this time, pulling her closer, putting her hand against the left side of his face. Letting her feel the blackened ruin under her fingers, hard as leather, hideous like a nightmare.

“Can you not feel it, girl?” he growled, and she squeaked, trying feebly to free her hand. He kept it there. He wanted her to feast with that horror, so that she might never forget it. “Wounds harden you” he said. “Might be they could keep you safe. wiser, at the very least”.

Sansa was no longer trying to escape him. When she heard him, she looked up at him, and her eyes widened.

Suddenly, her closeness seemed unbearable to him. He let go of her hand, wanting to escape her. Even the light touch of her fingers on his cheek – a touch he could barely feel under the hardened skin – was too much.

Her hand did not move, however. It rested on his face, softly, like a warm snowflake.

“I am sorry” she said again.

“What for?” he asked, flatly, his eyes burying inside hers, trying to scare her away – or maybe to keep her there. The anger was gone again, even the cold wasn’t anywhere.

“For everything” she said, simply. And then her arms slid slowly around his neck, and she was closer than she had ever been, and warmer than anything he had ever known, warmer even than the fire that had melted his face.

She went on her tiptoes and kissed his burned mouth. A light brush that lingered there. He kept still, afraid to move, or even to breathe, but she did not shy away. His arms circled her waist, pulling her closer, his mouth crushing against her.

_She tastes of spring,_ he thought. _A true spring._

**Author's Note:**

> Just an old thing I had written some time ago. Since I'm still working on my other fics, I thought to post this. Feedback appreciated and so on , but you know these things, don't you? :)


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